The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
by Thepopcornpup
Summary: "As he desperately attempted to focus on the stark silence of the Refuge, he could have sworn he heard singing outside...that meant it was Christmas. Jack was spending Christmas in the Refuge." (One- Shot)


**Author's Note: Hey There! So, I've been super excited for the holidays to write fun, fluffy, wintry stories with snowball fights, hot cocoa, and cuddles! But, then, my brain said, "No, no, no, make Jack spend Christmas in the Refuge." So, here we are. Sorry. Expect happier holiday stories later. This was written entirely on my phone on a bus to Dallas and on a good four hours of sleep, so excuse how low-quality this probably is. Enjoy!**

 **Also, there's a very brief mention of suicidal thoughts. It's very, very small, but if that makes you uncomfy, please don't read.**

* * *

The Refuge was always cold. Even if it was in the heart of summer, The Refuge was always cold. But, snow seemed to make it ten times worse. That's why Jack would steal blankets for his brothers who were stuck there, because it was torture when you didn't have one, even if they were threadbare.

But, now Jack was the one stuck there, as he'd been for a long time. As he sat shivering in the corner of the bunk he'd been crammed into along with four other boys, he wondered if it was beneath him to soak some ten year-old for a crappy blanket. He had been on the receiving end of that soaking plenty of times when he was that age, though, which made him hesitate.

He closed his eyes and curled in on himself, trying to push out the thought that maybe it'd be easier to just leap out the window and get it over with. _No_ , he told himself. _I've got the boys waiting for me. I've got Crutchie waiting for me. I've got Santa Fe waiting for me._

Sleep clearly wasn't going to come anytime soon, as much as he tried to mute his dark thoughts.  
As he desperately attempted to focus on the stark silence of the Refuge, he could have sworn he heard singing outside. He opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. Yes, that was singing. He realized, with very faint recognition, it was one of those songs they'd sing on Christmas Eve mass back when he was a kid and his parents took him to church. The last time he'd been to that church was for his mother's funeral, though, so the song was just barely memorable.

But, that meant it was Christmas Eve.

He was spending Christmas in the Refuge.

Jack buried his head in his hands. What a way to spend "the most wonderful time of the year."  
After anytime that could have been between a minute and an hour (your sense of time quickly became warped in a place like the Refuge), Jack heard a tapping on the window. He tried to ignore it, but a furiously whispered, "Psst, Jack!" successfully got his attention.

Jack jumped off the bunk and, a wave of vertigo washing over him, staggered to the window, where Race was sat on the fire escape. "Race, what the hell are you doin' here?" Jack whispered sharply. "You'se gonna be locked in here with me if ya don't go."

Race just stared at him before whispering back, "Woah. You really don't look too sharp, Jack. You feelin' alright?"

Jack couldn't disagree. He'd been soaked by Snyder multiple times that day, and though he hadn"t seen his reflection, the aching in his muscles and his extreme dizziness was enough to prove that he wasn't in top-notch condition. Jack avoided the question and responded, "It shouldn't surprise you how I look when I'se been here. Now, why are you here?"

"Calm down, will ya?" Race asked. Then, he pulled a leather- bound book out of his pocket along with a small bag. Upon opening the book, Jack saw that it was a sketchbook, an expensive- looking one, and inside the bag were paints, accompanied by a few paint- brushes.

"What's this about?" Jack questioned, having softened.

"You'd have to ask Crutchie," Race answered. "I found the kid tryin' to sneak out with this stuff. I asked where he was goin', he said it was none of my beeswax, but I got him to admit he was tryin' to get these to you."

"He was gonna come to The Refuge?" Jack asked, eyes widening. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen if Snyder caught Crutchie. He was twelve years old, short for his age, and crippled, making him a perfect target for boys who soak others for blankets.

Race nodded. "I knew you wouldn't like that. So, I told him not to, but he wasn't listenin' to me and tried to run away. I caught up to him quick, though, and asked why. He said he wanted to give you a Christmas gift, and damn, was that kid determined. Honestly, he kept tryin' to wriggle away from me. So, I told him that I'd take 'em to you. Of course, it still took a good fifteen minutes to convince him to let me go instead because the damn kid has to do everything for himself."

Jack blinked, looking at his gifts to Race and back. Finally, the closest thing to a smile he'd had in weeks appeared on his face as he shook his head. "Guess he's starting to pick up on my recklessness, huh?"

Race nodded, almost-grinning too.. "He was so well- behaved when I first met him; you're such a bad influence."

"I know," Jack chuckled. "Thank him for me. Profusely."

Race's grin faded. "He really misses you, Jack. He ain't got the same light in his eyes. He makes your bed every day, just in case you come back. It's been rough tough on everyone, but especially Crutchie."

Jack frowned. "Tell him I'm fine."

"You ain't, though," Race retorted.

"Who says?"

"For one thing, you'se covered in bruises," Race's eyebrows furrowed. "Not to mention, you're super pale. When's the last time you ate?"

Jack shrugged.

"They givin' you food here?"

Jack shrugged again. "Sometimes."

Race shook his head. "Snyder, that bastard. Also, I saw you stumble your way from the bunk to the window. You sick?"

"I dunno," Jack mumbled. "Snyder roughed me up today, got my head hurting. But, I'm fine."

"No, you ain't-"

"Tell Crutchie I'se fine," Jack demanded, his voice raising. He sighed. "I just want the kid to have a good Christmas. He ain't never had good Christmases livin' with those damn parents of his. He said last year was the first time he truly enjoyed this time of year, and I believed it. You shoulda seen the joy in his eyes. I want him to have that again. Tell him I'm fine."

Race sighed. "Fine. I don't know how much he'll believe me, though. He ain't stupid; he knows this place is hell."

"Please, Race."

"I said, 'fine.'", Race replied. Glancing at the sketchbook in Jack's hands, he said, "You know, he spent good money on that thing. He's been sellin' extra papes all week to afford it."

"He didn't have to do that," Jack chuckled.

"I know," Race shook his head. "He's makin' the rest of us look bad. I don't got a gift for you! But, is my presence gift enough?"

Jack scrunched up his face in fake thought before motioning the "so-so" sign. "You're mediocre."

"Oh, shut it," Race laughed, before glancing over his shoulder.. "I should go. See ya, Cowboy."

"See ya, Racer," Jack grinned.

Race turned to leave, but before going, he added, "By the way, Merry Christmas, Jack. Uh, take care of yourself."

With that, he left Jack to crawl back into his bunk, the pit that had manifested itself in his stomach slightly smaller. With a soft smile, he whispered, "Merry Christmas, Crutchie."


End file.
